FILE PHOTO BY ASSOCIATED PRESS
Doug Griffin was traded to the Red Sox in 1970 for, among others, Tony Conigliaro. “Dude,” as he was called, was later beaned by Nolan Ryan of the California Angels.
By STEVE KRAUSE
Doug Griffin was “The Dude.” Yes. That was his nickname.
Back in 1971, my senior year in high school, you didn’t hear the term “dude” too often. It was just coming into use as a familiar colloquialism that extended beyond its literal meaning of a city slicker who looks terribly out of place on a farm.
The Dude was a quiet, almost morose kind of a guy who probably cursed the day he came here. That happened when the California Angels sent him, relief pitcher Ken Tatum and center fielder Jarvis Tatum to Boston in exchange for Swampscott’s Tony Conigliaro, whose eyesight was really starting to deteriorate in the wake of his beaning in 1967; Gerry Moses and Ron Jarvis (whoever he was).
The trade didn’t turn out well for either side, except for Griffin. Tony C would retire within a year, Jarvis Tatum never played an inning in Boston. Ken Tatum’s story was Tony C’s in reverse. He beaned Paul Blair of the Baltimore Orioles in 1970 and was never the same pitcher after that.
The Dude was a better-than-average second baseman who couldn’t hit. But boy, could he could turn the double play.
As Red Sox players go, he is a bit-player in the history of one of the game’s signature franchises. Other than his winning a Gold Glove while with the Red Sox, he was known for two other things. The first is that he was Carl Yastrzemski’s fishing buddy. The second is that he was beaned by Nolan Ryan.
Do you notice a trend here? It’s almost as if the Red Sox tempted the Gods when they shipped the popular Tony C out of town. They got a damaged pitcher in return. Ken Tatum was supposed to be the closer that they lacked. Instead, but later admitted he was afraid every time he threw the ball that he’d kill someone. Let’s just say he never panned out.
Sometimes curses just have to run their course. When Conigliaro died in 1990, we had an obituary for him prepared ahead of time (relax, that’s done more often than you know). The lead, which was written by an old-time writer/editor named Jim Tagalakis, said, “Tony Conigliaro had tremendous talent. What he didn’t have was luck.”
They talk a lot about the Curse of the Bambino, but that was, as we all know, a manufactured phenomenon. It worked. Dan Shaughnessy of the Boston Globe turned the concept into a book, and last Sunday, Shaughnessy was inducted into the writers’ wing of the Hall of Fame.
But if you want a real curse, let’s discuss Conigliaro. Even before he his career was irreparably affected by his 1967 beaning, he was always breaking bones and pulling muscles. He lost parts of two seasons due to injuries sustained either by getting hit by pitches or running into outfield walls.
The man just couldn’t stay healthy. His beaning was the nadir of a career that just seemed star-crossed from the get-go. Yet, he was a devastating power hitter who would have been in the Hall of Fame along with Yastrzemski, his contemporary and, some have said, his rival, had he played a full career.
Tony’s beaning seems to have set a lot of things in motion that would appear, on the surface, to be coincidental. But were they?
Misfortune just seem to follow the this trade around. Conigliaro had to retire halfway through the 1971 season, setting off one of the more memorable incidents of internecine quarreling on the Red Sox. Billy Conigliaro popped off and blamed Yastrzemski and Reggie Smith for getting Tony traded. It was great theater, but it couldn’t have done the clubhouse much good. There was no such thing as “in house” in 1971.
It’s a given that the ramification of Conigliaro’s beaning helped kill the momentum of the team’s unexpected renaissance. But this goes beyond baseball.
Tony C. had such a tragic life, and was dead by the age of 45. Blair died at the age of 69. Jarvis Tatum never made it to 60. Ken Tatum is still alive, but his career was ruined because he hit Blair off the head.
And Griffin, the only player in that trade who made any impact at all, had his career cut short after Ryan beaned him. The Red Sox had to trade for Denny Doyle in 1975 because Griffin just couldn’t play anymore.
As for Doyle? First, he he got himself thrown out at the plate trying to score on what was essentially a pop-up in Game 6 of the ‘75 series; and second, he made a horrendous throwing error on an attempted double play right before Cincinnati’s Tony Perez knocked one into the next galaxy in Game 7. That got the Reds, who were trailing, 3-0, back into the game. But had Doyle completed the relay, there would have been three outs before Perez got a chance to hit. And maybe the Red Sox might have hung on to win.
As for Griffin, he was 69 — same age as Blair — when he died earlier this week.
I don’t know if I believe in curses all that much, but if I did, I’d believe in this one. The coincidences are downright spooky.